


Repairs

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [371]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: one anon asked for "Brains/Virgil while they're fixing Thunderbird 4" and another anon asked for anything Gordon and Virgil, and I accidentally mashed the two together.SO: Virgil and Gordon, fixing Four after "Up From The Depths"





	

After a while, Virgil stopped asking for tools.  And, if there was the occasional wet sniff from the figure curled up near the bow, least said soonest mended as their grandfather used to say.

It seemed to Virgil that all he’d been doing lately was patching up downed Thunderbirds.  With Scott taking damage, that put half their fleet on the repair list. 

They’d had to do the rescue of the trawler earlier in the week in a pod, and the wrong tool for the job always made the job harder.

But it was more than that, and Virgil could sympathize with Gordon’s melancholy.  Their Birds were extensions of themselves, and the Mechanic seemed able to get past every defense to keep landing body blows.

Even so, Gordon was getting maudlin.

“We could always take this chance to fix a few things,” he said aloud, as if to no-one in particular.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gordon’s hackles start to rise, and he grinned to himself.  “Improve the paint job, at least.  Maybe even redesign the grapples.”  He tossed his tool idly, watching it spin twice before landing on his palm with a meaty thud.  “Hey, you like squid.  Maybe we could give you, like…” he reached out with grabby hands and tweaked Gordon’s ribs.  “Squid appendages.”

Gordon shook Virgil off and turned, eyes flashing daggers.  “We are not messing with perfection.”

Virgil shrugged and closed his toolkit.  “Just saying, I’m pretty sure we’ve got a few pots of hot pink in the maritime paint…” he _oomphed_  as Gordon tackled him to the deck.

Gordon tickle-fought like it was a blood sport, but Virgil kept a lid on it by the simple expediency of hoisting Gordon up so that his limbs all flailed futilely in the air.  Finally, Gordon slumped, spent.

“Better?” Virgil asked, grinning up at him.

“Put me down, you freak.”  Gordon dropped heavily, rolling into it to end up sprawled on his back next to Virgil.  

“She looks good as new,” Virgil said by way of peace offering.

Gordon’s smile was beautific.  “She’s perfect.  Oh, and Virgil?”  Gordon’s knuckles bumped lightly off Virgil’s.  “Thanks.”


End file.
